A  Drift 
of  Song 
by 
Cherries 


Bla.nderv 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CMtFORNJA 

SAN  CHECO 


J 


ei^6— . 


IHE 

9f  MUFOftNM,  SAN 
JilLA.  CALIfORNW 


presented  to  the 

LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  •  SAN  DIEGO 

by 

FRIENDS  OF  THE  LIBRARY 


MR.    JOHN  C.   ROSE 

donor 


A  Drift  of  Song 

by 

Charles  G.  Bla.nd«r\ 
Author  of 

A  Vewllcy  Mvise,"     "Orvnvr    Resvirvg,"    Etc. 


E  vanston 

WILLIAM    S.    LORD 
J902 


Copyright,  1901,  by 
WILLIAM   S.   LORD 


c. 


Petals,  and  grasses,  and  down  of  the  thistle, 
And  wastrel  weeds  from  the  hills  of  Song; 
Blown  hither  (with  many  a  merry  whistle) 
By  the  winds, — to  the  winds  they  belong. 


Contents 


The  Unseen  Crown  Page  13 

Homeward  14 

When  This  Old  Heart  Was  Young  16 

The  Unchained  Sea  17 

Morning  Song  18 

Plea  of  the  Poets  20 

It's  Ho!  For  The  Swelling  Bud  22 

The  Fountain  of  Tears  23 

With  Psyche  I  Went  Maying  25 

Where  Lethe  Flows  26 

After  Many  Days  27 

When  First  I  Saw  Thy  Dimples,  Sweet  29 

Outlook      -  30 

Lotus  32 

The  Highway  of  Freedom  33 

Forget  Me.  Time  38 

A  Song  of  Faith  39 

The  Charioteer  40 

Love  in  Love  41 

The  Wife  43 


To  Mirth  44 

At  Last  -     47 

Temples  48 

Life  49 

A  Singer  49 

Quatrains  -       50 

Philosophers  -        53 

Growth  54 

Octaves  55 

Finis:   His  Song  59 


A  Drift  of  Song 


THE  UNSEEN  CROWN 

|F  sharpest  thorns  I  wove  a  crown 

And  threw  away  each  fragrant  leaf, 

"When  on  his  brow  this  settles  down," 
I  said,  "oh,  great  his  grief." 

I  hung  it  in  my  chamber  where, 

When  it  were  needed,  I  could  find, 

"Mine  enemy  this  thing  shall  wear." 
I  said,  for  I  was  blind. 

He  came  at  last;  I  took  my  thorns 

And  crowned  him  with  a  bitter  vow, 

When,  lo!  as  on  fair  summer  morns 
They  blossomed  on  his  brow. 


HOMEWARD 

|HE  leaves  are  falling  from  the  trees. 

The  brown  grass  shivers  in  the  breeze, 
The  robin  hurries  down  the  wold. 
All  save  his  valiant  heart  acold; 
The  year  is  growing  old. 
The  brook  hath  not  so  gay  a  song 
As  once  it  had,  but  moves  along 
As  it  were  haunted,  more  and  more, 
As  though  its  music,  nearly  o'er. 
Proclaimed  the  nearby  day 
When  it  must  put  all  mirth  away. 
Tis  shrunken  in  its  banks,  once  green 
With  happy  sheen; 
But  now  along  its  margins  lean 
The  ghostly  river  reeds  that  sigh 
Like  human  waifs,  when  winds  go  by. 
The  sun  from  his  old  haunts  is  gone. 
And  his  sweet  smile  withdrawn; 
There  is  a  sadness  in  the  sky 
That  seems  to  say,  All  things  must  die; 
All  glory  and  all  song 
To  Death  belong. 


Snugly  I  wrap  me  as  I  go, 

Yet  feel  within  my  veins  the  snow, 

And,  feeling  it,  serenely  know 

And  bow  to  time's  behest: 

All  hearts  must  rest. 

Homeward  I  take  my  lonesome  way. 

Night  follows  fast;  the  little  day 

A  moment  flickers  then  departs: 

A  great  wind  rises  full  of  darts 

For  all  save  armored  hearts. 

Faint  through  the  shadows  comes  a  voice; 

Fear  not,  but  rather,  heart,  rejoice, 

Man  hath  his  seasons  as  the  year; 

The  outworn  blossoms  disappear; 

They  can  but  dream  of  harvest  time, 

As  thou  in  rhyme 

Dost  sadly  dream 

Beside  this  stream. 

And  yet,  in  falling,  well  they  know 

(These  sweet  forerunners  of  the  wain. 

High-piled  with  fruits  and  grain) 

The  Power  that  bade  them  bud  and  blow 

For  higher  reasons  lays  them  low. 


WHEN   THIS  OLD  HEART  WAS  YOUNG 

HEN  this  old  heart  was  young,  my  dear. 

'Twas  waxen  to  thy  smile. 
And  throbbed  with  joy  or  beat  with  pain, 

As  thou  dids't  choose  the  while. 
But  now,  alas,  since  thou  art  gone. 

It  only  heaves  with  grief, 
As  in  some  late  autumnal  storm 

Is  tossed  the  faded  leaf. 

And  I  can  never  hope  for  spring. 

But,  as  I  fog  along 
Find  more  of  winter  in  my  path 

And  less  of  bloom  and  song. 
Ah.  well-a-day,  'tis  nature's  way 

To  mar  the  brow  of  youth 
And  mingle  with  the  wine  of  joy 

The  rue  of  darker  truth. 

Perchance,  since  hearts  age  not,  my  dear, 

When  I  no  more  am  seen, 
The  heart  of  me  may  fly  to  thee 
Through  any  space  between. 


16 


And  I  may  feel  thy  true  heart  heal 
The  hunger  of  mine  own. 

In  hope's  unshadowed  kingdom,  dear, 
When  this  old  life  is  flown. 

THE  UNCHAINED  SEA 

HIS  said  that  once  the  unchained  sea 
Sung  not  so  sad  a  song, 

But,  with  a  voice  of  hope  and  joy. 
Ran  his  far  coasts  along. 

But  when  he  saw  how  time  and  change 
Upon  his  borders  smote 

His  laughter  died,  and  in  its  place 
Was  heard  a  mournful  note. 

And  all  his  solemn  shores  have  grown 

As  laughterless  as  he — 
As  day  by  day  has  grown  the  heart 

In  this  old  breast  of  me. 


MORNING  SONG 

j|H,  welcome.  Morn,  and  all  thy  sweets: 
Sweet  buds  that  bloom,  sweet  birds  that  sing, 
Sweet  winds  that  blow. 
Sweet  streams  that  flow. 
Sweet  light  that  falls  o'er  everything 
And  heaps  with  joy  these  meadows  so. 
How  sweet  it  is  to  walk  the  fields. 
With  heart  that  throbs. with  soul  that  bounds. 
While  unseen  hands 
In  lyric  lands 

Touch  airy  lyres,  whose  mystic  sounds 
Alone  the  listening  spirit  understands. 
Ye  bards  that  in  high  ether  dwell, 

Ye  km  of  Israfel, 

Ye  lords  of  Morn  who  sweetly  swell 
The  countless  choir 
Of  the  divine. 

Accept  this  altar,  and  with  fire 
Consume  the  grosser  part  of  me  and  mine, 
That  I  may  be 
Anear  to  ye 
Who  are  the  life  and  dream  of  Morn, 


18 


Sweet  invisibilities  of  light 
Ye  are  the  angels  that  do  urge 

The  soul  to  soar, 

As  forth  ye  pour 
Your  music  over  heaven's  verge. 

Me  from  myself  unchain: 

Into  your  gold  domain 
Of  subtle  essence  let  me  enter,  pray, 
To  roam  forever  with  the  Day, 

Clothed  in  the  gleam 

Of  his  pure  stream 
And  singing  his  glad  songs  for  aye. 


PLEA  OF  THE  POETS 

KERS  of  song  did  you  say  ? 

Finders  of  songs,  be  it  told; 
The  music  we  fashion  today 
Is  centuries  old. 


Only  we  look  and  we  see, 

Only  we  hear  and  we  sing: 
Only  we  find  in  the  tree 

And  we  find  in  the  spring 

The  beautiful  thing. 

Dreamers  they  call  us  of  earth. 

Poets  they  name  us,  and  smile 

Thinking  that  nothing  of  worth 

Comes  from  our  dreaming  the  while. 

Laughing,  we  fashion  our  reeds; 

Musing,  we  go  our  own  ways, 
Singing  of  glorious  deeds. 

Singing  ill  beauties'  praise 

In  musical  phrase. 


20 


Nothing  we  ask  but  to  sing, 

Nothing  we  ask  for  the  song, 

Only  to  be  of  the  spring 

As  any  bird  may  belong. 

Given  this,  and  we  ask  not 

Anything  purchased  with  gold, 

Given  this,  and  we  task  not 
Any  measures  you  hold. 

Yea,  remember — forget  us; 

(Fame  is  a  bubble  that  breaks), 
Only  we  pray  you  to  let  us 

Gladden  some  souls  for  their  sakes, 
Filling  their  spirits  with  song. 

Till  the  burdens  they  bear 

And  the  crowns  that  they  wear 
Grow  lighter,  or  they  grow  strong. 
Hearing  our  song. 


21 


IT'S  HO!  FOR  THE  SWELLING  BUD 

[T'S  HO  !  for  the  swelling  bud. 
And  ho!  for  the  glossy  leaf: 
It's  ho  !  for  the  green,  green  wood 
That  drowns  a  world  of  grief. 

I  said  to  my  soul.  ''Be  gay.  be  gay !" 
I  said  to  my  heart,  "Rejoice," 

I  rallied  Woe  and  bade  him  go. 

And  laughed  with  a  merry  voice. 

I  laughed  ''ho  !  ho  !"  as  I  danced  with  you 
All  around  the  happy  tree. 

And  sweet ,  sweet,  sweet  the  moments  flew, 
As  flies  the  honey  bee. 

I  said  to  my  soul.  "Rejoice,   rejoice  !" 
I  said  to  my  heart,  "Be  glad  !" 

I  laughed  with  a  merry,  merry  voice. 
For  I  was  only  a  lad. 


22 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  TEARS 

INTO  the  fountain  of  our  tors 
Both  Joy  and  Sorrow  dip  their  jars. 
And  often  for  replenishment 
They  come  and  go  by  different  paths, 
Yet  never  at  the  well  they  meet. 
One  maid  is  fair  and  one  is  dark; 
One  hath  a  voice  like  morning's  lark. 
Sings  on  her  way  and  dallies  long 
To  pluck  at  flowers  or  mend  her  song; 
The  other,  silent,  minds  her  task. 
Looks  on  the  ground  and  picks  her  steps 
To  steady  well  her  burdened  head. 
The  tears  that  fill  the  jar  she  bears 
Are  leaden  drops,  while  those  that  brim 
The  jar  of  Joy  are  light  as  down 
Blown  from  the  cotton  trees  in  spring 
High  up  into  the  windy  heaven. 

Both  live  within  the  near-by  heart: 
By  separate  doors  they  go  and  come; 
And  thinnest  wall  keeps  them  apart. 
And,  sometimes,  there  wan  Sorrow  hears 


The  laugh  of  Joy  melt  in  her  ears. 

Like  some  faint  dream  of  long  ago: 

And,  sometimes,  too,  when  Joy  doth  muse, 

She  hears  the  echo  of  a  sigh 

The  glamour  of  her  chamber  fill, 

As  some  lone  wind  about  a  hill 

That  lifts  a  leaf  and  then  is  still. 

So  dwell  they  in  the  human  breast 
Till  death  breaks  down  the  wall  between 
And  drives  them  hence.     Together,  they 
Co  forth  into  another  day. 
And  are  no  more  in  all  the  world. 


BURST  the  grape  of  folly. 

And  found  it  melancholy: 
I  burst  the  grape  of  fame. 
And  found  it  much  the  same. 
Then  wisdom  sweet  I  tasted: 
Alas  !  with  life  so  wasted. 
And,  oh,  so  nearly  through. 
I  found  that  bitter,  too. 


WITH  PSYCHE  I  WENT  MAYING 

|ITH  Psyche  I  went  Maying; 

We  left  the  Heart  behind: 
We  left  the  boy  a-playmg 

With  Love  the  boy  that's  blind. 

Through  fields  both  fair  and  sunny 
We  roamed  i-many  hours; 

The  bees  were  swift  for  honey. 
Among  a  thousand  flowers. 

The  birds  were  gayly  singing, 

The  brooks  were  mad  with  joy. 

Said  Psyche,  to  me  clinging: 

"We  should  have  brought  the  boy." 

A  tear  was  on  her  lashes, 

Her  lips  were  quivering: 
Her  wit,  devoid  of  flashes. 

Drooped  like  a  broken  wing. 

Said  I  to  Psyche,  sighing: 
"Although  it  is  the  May. 

To  me  the  blossoms,  flying. 

Seem  flakes  of  snow,  today." 


"Let  us  return.     Hereafter, 

We'll  leave  no  joy  behind: 

We'll  take  the  Heart,  for  laughter, 

We'll  take  the  boy  that's  blind." 


WHERE  LETHE  FLOWS 

Lethe  flows,  no  sound  you  hear; 
Cray  silence  rules  both  far  and  near: 
So  quietly  the  waters  glide. 
No  lotus  wakes  upon  the  tide. 
Nor  quivers  any  grassy  spetr. 

Black  poppies,  in  the  twilight  drear 
Of  that  lone  land,  strange  beauty  rear 
And  weave  a  drowsy  tangle  wide. 
Where  Lethe  flows. 

Sad,  noiseless  ghosts  betimes  appear, 
Step  down  into  the  stream  with  fear, 
And,  sinking  there,  no  more  abide: 
As  though  a  hope  had  bloomed  and  died 
Upon  the  bosom  of  a  tear 
Where  Lethe  flows. 

26 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS 

JJE'S  sixty-nine  if  he's  a  day — 

The  advertising  man; 
He's  leaner  than  a  hemlock  rail, 

And  works  each  hour  he  can; 
And  where  he  sleeps  he's  "Number  ten. 
And  otherwhere  is  "Dan." 

His  hair  is  gray  and  very  thin, 
His  cheeks  are  ashen,  too; 

His  eyes  are  embers  of  old  fires, 
And  once,  I  think,  were  blue: 

His  coat  is  such  a  faded  thing 
I  doubt  'twas  ever  new. 

His  step  is  such  a  feeble  one 
I  wonder  how  he  stands; 

The  sign  he  carries  is  so  large, 
So  ghostly  are  his  hands, 

I  wonder  why  he  does  not  fall 

And  pay  what  death  demands. 

In  rain  or  shine  he  marches  on 
Like  shadows  in  a  dream; 
He  does  not  heed  the  passer-by 

27 


Or  they  like  phantoms  item: 
He  thinks  of  hopes  that  long  ago 
Were  swallowed  in  the  stream. 

Ah,  there  he  comes,  and  you  shall  see 

The  sorry  man  I  sing. 
What's  that  you  say  ?    You  know  him  well  ? 

That  poor  decrepit  thing  ? 
Your  color  bearer  in  the  war. 

And  nobler  than  a  king? 

"Yes,  yes,  'twas  he  when  once  men  fell 

Likes  leaves  before  a  blast, 
And  our  small  band  had  turned  and  fled. 

That  he  stood  firm  and  fast — 
Advanced  the  flag  in  that  wild  hell 

And  saved  the  day  at  last. 

"He  carries  now  that  banner  old 

In  that  great  painted  sign. 
But  he  shall  carry  it  no  more. 

For  I  will  make  him  mine, 
And  he  shall  sleep  beneath  my  roof 

And  like  a  hero  dine." 

28 


His  comrade  shook  his  bony  hand 

As  only  comrades  can; 
One  mumbled  feebly  "It  is  Bill," 

One,  choking,  whispered  "Dan;" 
And  since  that  time  I  have  not  seen 

The  advertising  man. 


WHEN    FIRST    I    SAW    THY   DIMPLES, 
SWEET 

|HEN  first  I  saw  thy  dimples,  sweet, 

I  thought  me  of  the  nest 
Where  Love  was  wont  to  pouting  lie 
And  take  his  noonday  rest. 

So  fresh  the  roses  all  around. 

So  warm  his  nest  did  look. 
I  knew  he  could  not  wander  far 

That  had  so  dear  a  nook. 

When  lo  !  within  thy  blue,  blue  eyes, 

As  nuad  in  a  spring, 
I  saw  him  revel  joyously 

And  flash  each  golden  wing. 

29 


OUTLOOK 

JJHEN  they  were  young. 
And  first  the  stars  together  sung. 
They  looked  into  each  other's  eyes 
With  sweet  surprise. 
For  they  were  happy  in  the  skies. 

Now  they  are  old, 

They  sing  no  more,  and  some  are  cold, 
And  all  are  sorrowed  where  they  go 
Since  all  do  know 
That  youth  is  pleasure  and  that  age  is  woe. 

Still,  roaming  space, 
They  fully  hope  they  yet  may  trace 
A  greater  orbit,  larger  day, 
Wherein  the  ray 
Of  some  new  sun  shall  dominate  their  way: 

And  that  its  power 

Shall  bid  them  bud  again  and  flower, 
If  not  through  that  delightful  heat 
Which  once  did  beat 
Upon  them.young.with  yet  a  force  more  sweet 

30 


Whose  strength,  sublime, 
Is  as  eternity  to  time; 
And  feeling  which,  renewed,  reborn. 
No  more  forlorn, 
With  music  they  may  charm  the  perfect  morn. 

And  so  may  we, 

Grown  placid  in  the  storms  that  be. 
Still  hope  and  strive  for  grander  things— 
For  stronger  wings 
With  which  to  gain  the  more  celestial  springs. 


LOTUS 

MEHOW.  urged  from  below, 
And  from  above  urged  up. 
Into  the  light  I  grow 
And  ope  my  golden  cup. 
Anchored,  by  day,  I  feel 
The  sun  store  me  with  gold; 
At  night.  I  closely  seal 
The  cargo  in  my  hold. 
Jason,  perchance,  of  yore, 
In  Argo  fast  asleep, 
Dreamed  sweetly,  while,  on  high. 
The  gods,  bestowing  peace, 
From  out  their  happy  sky 
Made  me  his  golden  fleece. 


THE  HIGHWAY  OF  FREEDOM 

fiP  comes  the  sun  from  out  the  sea 
And  lo  !  his  eye  beholds 

The  first  out-post  of  Liberty, 
And  her  far-flaming  folds 

Of  stripes  and  stars, 

High  o'er  the  bars 

Where  her  three  guardsmen  stand, 
Firm-footed  in  the  wave, 

With  heart,  and  soul,  and  hand 
To  shield  her  and  to  save, 
Or  sink  unto  their  grave. 

With  stout-set  lips. 

And  back  to  back. 

Right  in  the  track 

Of  westward-veering  ships, 

The  might  of  all  the  mam  they  brave 

And  all  the  winds  that  rave 

As  those  upon  the  bridge  of  Rome, 

Long  years  ago  protected  home, 

And  brought  a  nation  joy. 

"All's  well !  all's  well  !" 

Shouts  each  true  sentinel— 

St.  John,  St.  Thomas  and  St.  Croix. 

33 


And  now  fair  Porto  Rique 

The  blazing  orb  doth  speak. 

"All's  well !"  laughs  every  vocal  vale; 

And  every  grove  of  palm 
Proclaims  the  happy  tale 

That  they  are  rich  with  calm, 

The  frankincense  and  balm 
Of  long-desired  peace. 
That  shall  not  cease. 
"All's  well"  re-echoes  every  peak, 
"There  is  no  more  to  seek." 

Right  on  he  flares,  the  god  of  light, 

And  now  his  gaze 

Upon  a   rock-ribbed  land  doth  blaze, 
The  head  and  front  of  Freedom,  Maine. 
"All's  well  !  All's  well  !"  the  strain 
That  gray  Katadin  and  Monadnoc  shout. 
"The  right  is  here  and  liberty  about !" 
"All's  well !"  the  great  Niagara  roars: 
Stentorian  of  the  free. 
Leaps  like  a  lion  towards  the  sea 
Proclaiming  liberty. 
"All's  well!"  the  Mississippi  pours 


Along  his  sunny  shores. 

From  state  to  state, 

Majestic  and  elate. 

"All's  well  !"  the  golden  plains  exclaim, 

"We  bloom  in  Freedom's  name." 

The  towered  top  of  Shasta  hears 

And  loud  he  cheers, 

"All's  well  !  All's  well !  from  sea  to  sea. 

While  Manposa's  giant  trees 
(Ten  thousand  spears) 

The  signal  seize: 

"Have  ye  no  fears: 

Full  twice  a  thousand  years 

Have  we  climbed  up  to  be 

The  ruddy  guards  of  Liberty. 

All's  well  !  All's  well !  where  all  are  free. 

Lo  !  San  Francisco's  Gate  of  Cold 

Gleams  like  Belchazzar's  feast,  of  old. 

High  in  the  heavens  it  is  written  plain: 

"The  slave  shall  throw  away  his  chain, 

The  tyrant  be  no  more  on  any  sea  or  shore. 

Fast  speeds  the  sun, 

And  o'er  the  wave  doth  run 

To  Maui's  summer  shore, 

35 


And   lo!  above  his  door 

The  banner  of  the  bold 

Doth  all  its  stars  unfold 

Where  he,  and  his  six  brothers  stand 

To  guard  the  western  strand — 

Bright  pleiad  of  the  deep  ! — 

And  high  the  emblem  keep 

That  wraps  them  to  its  heart 

And  makes  them  all  a  part 

Of  Freedom  and  the  free. 

'•All's  well  !  All's  well,  O  Liberty. 

In  this  Pacific  sea." 

Now  looks  the  sun  upon 

The  far  Luzon, 

And  from  her  darkness  strives  to  wake 

Her  and  her  hundred  sisters,  for  their  sake. 

Half-heartedly  they  hear 

And  sidelong  glance  and  sneer 

And  doubt — a  sullen  lot 

That  have  so  long  oppression  felt 

And  at  his  altars  knelt, 

(By  all  the  world  forgot) 

That  even  Liberty  doth  seem 

This  old  Oppression's  dream, 

36 


A  baser  scheme 

Wherewith  to  trap  them  and  to  bind. 

All's  well  !   All's  well !  for  they  are   blind, 

But  yet  shall  see 

And  know  thy  voice,  O  Liberty, 

And  thy  true  children  be. 

Faint  not,  Columbia,  at  thy  task: 

Great  nations  should  great  labors  ask. 

There  was  a  work  to  do  and  thou  didst  say, 

"Give  this  to  me  !"  Rue  not  the  day; 

Let  cynics  smile  and  cowards  hide 

And  money-lovers  rail; 
The  right — the  right  is  on  thy  side; 

Thou  canst  not  fail. 
For  time  at  last  shall  fling  unto  thy  feet 

With  an  appealing  face 

The  chains  of  all  the  groaning  race, 
And  thou  shalt  hear  the  pean  strong  and  sweet 
"All's  well !  all's  well  !"  in  every  place. 

For  lo  !  so  crowded  with  triumphant  stars 

Thy  flag  doth  shine 
The  world  forgets  her  ancient  way 
And  all  its  hopes  divine 

Are  blossomed  into  thine. 

37 


FORGET  ME.  TIME 

JJORCET  me.  Time,  if  so  thou  wilt. 

But,  oh,  my  love  remember, 
As  vestals  wreathe  their  golden  shrines 
And  feed  the  spicy  ember. 

The  gentlest  soul  that  ever  dwelt 

In  this  or  other  ages — 
Carve  thou  her  name  in  marbles  fair 

And  write  it  on  thy  pages. 

Not  for  my  sake,  O  Time,  but  for 
Thy  fame  let  live  her  story, 

That  future  ages  shall  not  say 
How  poor  was  this  in  glory. 


A  SONG  OF  FAITH 

HAVE  not  seen  the  glory  that  must  be 

Beyond  this  mortal  sight, 
And  yet,  within  the  deeper  deeps  of  me, 
I    feel  the  Larger  Light. 

I  have  not  felt  His  hand,  this  side  the  grave, 

Within  this  palm  of  clay, 
And  yet,  as  it  did  Peter  on  the  wave, 

It  lifts  me  day  by  day. 

His  voice  mine  earthly  ear  hath  never  heard. 

Nor  once  expects  to  hear. 
And  yet,  as  in  the  Burning  Bush,  His  word 

Is  ever  uttered  near. 

I  may  not  take  the  path  that  I  should  tread, 

Forgetting  where  I  go, 
And  yet,  onPisgah's  height  and  Horeb's  head. 

The  golden  Sun  shall  glow. 


39 


THE  CHARIOTEER 

|HEN  Light  wheels  up  his  chariot. 

So  dazzling  his  array 
The  multitudinous  bright  stars 
Seem  fast  to  melt  away. 

Yet  they  go  not,  but  breathless  watch, 
The  while  his  course  he  runs; 

And  only  when  he  is  obscured 
Remember  they  are  suns. 

Again  he  comes,  outstripping  Night: 

The  vast  arena  glows, 
As,  in  the  east,  applauding  skies 
Ram  all  his  path  with  rose. 


40 


LOVE  IN  LOVE 

CAME  on  Love  all  unaware; 

He  sat  beside  a  brook. 
And  peered  into  the  limpid  wave 
With  pensive  look. 

His  little  bow  was  thrown  aside, 

His  golden  arrows  keen 
Around  him  made  a  circle  bright 

Upon  the  green. 

Pale  were  his  cheeks,  and  from  his  eyes 

The  tears  were  like  to  rain, 
And  round  about  his  dimpled  mouth 

A  trace  of  pain. 

A-tremble  were  his  red,  red  lips, 
And  "Woe  is  me"  he  sighed; 

"They  never  think  that  Love  would  choose 
Himself  a  bride. 

"They  think  forever  he  must  give 
All  youths  and  maidens  sweet, 

Becoming  mates,  and  round  with  joy 
Their  lives  complete. 


"Alas !  these  mortal  maids  are  fair 
Alas !  and  woe  is  me: 

I  would  I  were  a  simple  swam 
In  Arcady." 

He  ended,  pouting  rosily, 
Then  all  his  arrows  took 

And  threw  them  at  his  counterfeit 
Within  the  brook. 

Upstarting  then,  he  ran  away, 
And  said:  "Now  I  am  free, 

And  I  will  wed  the  fairest  maid 
In  Arcady. 

"And  I  will  dwell  me  in  a  cot 
With  her  I  love  so  true. 

With  honeysuckle  round  the  door, 
And  violets  blue. 

"And  she  shall  never  know  that  I 
Was  other  than  a  swam 

Whose  only  care  was  his  small  fields 
Of  vine  and  grain. 

"For  her  I'll  clip  my  snowy  wings 
And  lay  them  at  her  feet. 

42 


And  say:  'These  trophies  of  the  chase 
I  give  thee,  sweet. 

"  'And  were  they  mine,  and  could  I  fly, 
I'd  clip  them,  dear,  for  thee. 

To  dwell  forever  at  thy  side 
In  Arcady.' " 


THE  WIFE 

NE  bloom  from  all  this  multitude," 
The  gardener  said,  "is  thine; 

Make  thou  the  choice,"  I  chose,  and  lo  ! 
Could  see  no  flower  but  mine. 


43 


TO  MIRTH 

JJEACH  me,  O  Mirth,  the   language  of  thy 

mood, 

That  I  may  keep  forever  in  my  heart 
Sufficient  store  of  all  thy  lessons  good 

Against  the  keen  and  ready-feathered  dart 
Of  that  sarcastic  wit  who  plays  his  part 
So  nimbly  we  become  obedient  mutes 

To  grief,  forgetful  of  thy  merry  art. 
And  grow  at  last  to  hate  thy  mellow  flutes, 
Like  some  imprisoned  soul  among  a  thousand 
lutes. 

Let  me  of  countless  smiles  and  merriment 

Make  citadel  wherein  to  rest  secure 
That  when  old  Sorrow's  gloomy  hosts  are  sent 
Against  me  his  long  siege  I  may  endure, 
Laugh  at  his  shafts  and  feel  my  gates  are 

sure: 
Feast  at  my  board  and  know  that  sweet  doth 

spring 

Within  my  walls  a  fountain  bright  and 
pure 

44 


So  shall  I  hear  with  joy  my  minstrel  sing 
And  match  my  lot  above  or  potentate  or  king. 

O  sunny  god  of  laughter  and  of  song 

Whose  cheeks  are  rose,  whose  eyes  are 

twinkling  stars, 

Whose  voice  is  music,  I  have  loved  thee  long: 
And  I  have   thought  with  wonder  on 

grim  wars, 

Of  those  who  passed  thee  by  in    whir 
ling  cars 

To  triumphs  proud,  to  thrones  that  troubled  be 
When   they,    forbearing,    might     have 

missed  their  scars. 

And  with  thee  danced  beneath  the  green 
wood  tree. 

Linked  arm  and  arm  with    love,  without  an 
enemy. 

Vain  gods  there  are  who  tempt  us  from  our 

own, 

Strange  dreams  that  haunt  us  with    de 
luding  show; 

We  wake  and  follow,  trusting  the  unknown, 
And  waste  the  gladsome  blossoms  as  we  go, 

45 


So  find,  too  late,  the  path  is  one   of  woe, 

Through  whose  broad  portals  is  no  gay  return, 

Since  they  do  swing  but  to  the  regions  low 

Of  pillared  darkness  and  the  sculptured  urn, 

Where  Mirth  is  mocked  and  jeered  by  hopes 

that  madly  spurn. 

Keep  thou,  O  Mirth,  thy   kingdom   in  our 

hearts. 

And  in  our  eyes  maintain  their  happy  light, 
And  on  our  lips,  until  the  soul  departs, 

Keep  thou  the  smile  of  thy    contented 

might. 
Yea,  sing  thy  golden  measures   through 

the  night; 

Unclouded  keep  thy  stars,  and  let  the    moon 
Look  calmly  down  from   her  enchanted 

height — 

And  we  will  sleep,  not  jealous  of  our    noon, 
But  like  the  young  Endymion,  lapt  in  blissful 
swoon. 


AT  LAST 

I. 

||EATH'S  at  the  gate: 
Bid  him  not  go; 
Ask  him  to  wait 

A  moment  or  so. 
Love  is  so  late. 

Comes  he  or  no? 

II. 

Death's  at  thy  side: 

Love  is  away, 
Earth  is  so  wide. 

Time  is  so  gray, 
Love  cannot  ride 

Home  in  a  day. 

III. 
Death,  take  my  hand; 

Love  is  not  here. 
I  understand — 

Love  is  grown  sere: 
Love's  in  the  land 

Of  Mirth  and  Good  Cheer. 

47 


IV. 

Death,  thy  surprise 

Transfigures  woe ! 
Kiss  lips  and  eyes  ! 

How  should  I  know 
Love  in  disguise  ? 

Come  let  us  go. 

TEMPLES 

HE  groves  were  Cod's  first  temples." 
Then  man  bethought  him  how 

To  rear  "a  dome  more  vast, " 
And  raised  his  temples  up. 

Cod  smiled,  looked  in,  and  passed. 

"The  groves  were  Cod's  first  temples, 

And  they  shall  be  the  last. 


LIFE 

IJACH  day  a  little  stronger, 
And  then,  a  little  longer, 
Each  day  a  little  weaker 
Until,  at  last,  life's  beaker 
Upon  the  earth  is  shattered 
And  all  its  glory  scattered. 

A  SINGER 

BENEATH  a  laurel  tree, 
As  sweetly  as  may  be, 
His  reedy  pipes  he  played 
And  lo  !  into  the  shade 
Came,  wonder-eyed,  the  beasts. 
On  song  to  make  their  feasts. 
And  when  the  song  was  o'er, 
Unto  their  haunts  once  more 
They  crept — like  happy  men 
Who  dream,  and  long  to  dream  again. 


49 


QUATRAINS 
The  Jewel 

|IME  gave  to  me  a  jewel — bright  Today! 
I  gazed  with  wonder  at  the  boon, 
I  marveled  at  it  until  noon: 
I  mused,  I  dreamed  the  gift  away. 


Ye    Happy  Rivers 

IE  HAPPY  rivers  of  her  blood 
That  her  sweet  heart  enflood. 
I  prithee,  run  unto  your  rosy  sea 
With  not  unloving  thoughts  of  me. 


Found 

FOUND  Nea's  fillet. 
Returned  it  straightway; 
Since  when,  could  I  will  it, 
I'd  find  it  each  day. 


The  Exile 

j|OU  sent  me,  love,  a  rose. 
Upon  its  cheeks  the  dew: 
Exiled,  in  tears,  it  died, 
Homesick  for  sight  of  you. 


The  Letters  of  Love 

roses  over  thy  door, 
That  when  their  petals  fall 
They  spell  upon  the  floor 
Her  name — the  Rose  of  all. 


What  is  Love? 

JJHAT  is  love?     Ah,  that  is  plain: 
'Tis  as  we  give  and  take  it. 
Love  is  pleasure,  love  is  pain. 
Love  is  what  we  make  it. 


Aceldama 

JLOOD  bought,  all  fields  are  fields  of  blood, 

wherein 
We  slay  ourselves  through   some    devouring 

sin — 

Through  base  betrayal  and  the  sale   of  Light 
All  fields  are  fields  of  blood,  not  purchased 

right. 


The  Cedar  Tree 

JITH  giant  hands  thou  clmgest  to  the  rocks 
And  buildest  up  thy  tower  into  the  sky, 
While  we,  too  fearful  of  the  tempest  shocks. 
Grasp  earth  with  greed — lift  not  the  soul  on 
high. 


An  Epitaph 

Ij^lEACE  be  to  him  beneath  the  sod  ! 
As  peace  must  be,  if  Death  is  just. 
In  all  he  did  he  walked  with  Cod, 
And  Cod  shall  not  forget  his  dust. 

52 


PHILOSOPHERS 

RIENDSHIP,  Love     the     Philosopher's 

Stone — 

I  search  but,  oh,  I  find  them  not." 
So  sang  the  poet  and  made  him  moan; 
"They  are  but  dreams  Time  has  forgot." 

Now  down  the  way  came  a  rosy  lad, 
And  piping  was  he  on  a  reed. 
"Oh.  why  so  happy  and  why  so  glad. 
When  poets'  hearts  they  can  but  bleed?" 

"Oh,  tell  me,  tell  me,  my  merry  boy. 
What  god  doth  dwell  within  thy  door?1' 
Said  the  lad  with  heart  o'erbhm  with  joy, 
"Love  have  I  found  and  I  need  no  more." 


53 


GROWTH 

IEFENDER  of  the  Faith?" 

The  truth  needs  no  defense; 
More  potent  than  all  else. 

Cods  cannot  drive  it  hence. 

Creeds  grow  and  creeds  decay. 

Thought  ever  upward  springs: 
Think  not  to  stay  her  flight 

With  weight  of  perished  things. 

Love  neither  word  nor  phrase. 

But  for  the  spirit  look; 
Cod  writes  a  page  a  day 

In  his  great  Wonder  Book. 

Or  read  it.  or  read  not. 

'Tis  written,  and  is  Truth; 
And  he  who  scorns  to  read — 

Is  Age  that  mocks  at  Youth. 


54 


OCTAVES 
I 

Mullah:  "Love,  and  Time  and  Death- 

Ah,  who  can  bridge  them  o'er? 
For  they  are  Soul,  and  Hope,  and  Breath 
That  goes  and  comes  no  more." 
The  Master  mused,  and  spoke  it  last: 
"Thou  thinkest  well,  O  Youth, 
And  yet  between  thy  kingdoms  vast 
Behold  the  arch  of  Truth." 
II 

Hail,  Charon!  Take  me  o'er, 

If  over  I  must  go. 

Why  not  upon  this  shore 

Enough  of  joy  and  woe? 

Proceed:  I  have  no  pass. 

What!  lead  I  gave  for  fee? 

Believe  it  not:  look  sharp: 

Tis  gold  that  died  with  me. 

Ill 

Away!  Perhaps  to-morrow 
My  heart  to  you  may  ope: 
To-day  belongs  to  sorrow — 

55 


And  to  hope. 
To-day  I  cannot  measure 
My  love,  whate'cr  befall: 
Perchance  the  grief  I  treasure 
Will  take  it  all. 

IV 

Come,  smile  and  show  thy  dimples,  love, 

My  soul  would  wander  where 

Those  little  vales  of  bloom  proclaim 

How  sweet  thou  art  and  fair. 

Come,  smile  and  show  thy  dimples,  love, 

That  I  at  least  may  see 

(As  Moses,  looking  Canaan-ward) 

The  realm  denied  to  me. 

V 

The  trump  of  fame  to  Cenius  passed: 
He  placed  unto  his  lips  and  blew  it. 
A  whisper  faint  was  all  that  came, 
Half  frightened,  through  it. 
Said  Death:  "Now  give  it  unto  me." 
And  when  he  blew  the  world  grew  quiet. 
Oh,  ye  that  merit  fame  in  life. 
Co  die — and  buy  it. 

56 


VI 

Patter,  patter  falls  the  ram 

Upon  the  autumn  leaf 

As  fall  upon  the  cheeks  of  age 

The  gentle  tears  of  grief. 

The  rain  cannot  restore  again 

Unto  the  leaf  its  green. 

And  never  in  those  furrowed  cheeks 

Shall  roses  more  be  seen. 

VII 

From  where  I  stand,  two  vales  I  see. 
And  one  is  Youth,  and  one  is  Age: 
One  have  I  travelled,  one  must  tread 
And  some  few  battles  bravely  wage. 
Backward  I  look;  the  paths  of  Youth — 
The  eastern  slopes — in  shade  repose, 
While,  lo!  the  western  fields  are  thronged 
With  light  sufficient  to  the  close. 

VIII 

Blossoms  that  dot  the  fields 
Of  lowly  Nazareth, 
Fear  not  to  fade  and  go 
To  yonr  most  fragrant  death; 

57 


The  earth  from  whence  you  spring 
The  Master's  feet  have  trod. 
And  he  will  call  you,  dears, 
To  throng  the  groves  of  Cod. 


FINIS:  HIS  SONG 

chill  Oblivion's  stream 
I  wandered  in  a  dream. 
And  there  I  met  myself. 
A  sorry  little  elf 
That  sat  upon  a  ledge 
Beside  the  water's  edge 
And  sung  unto  the  wave 
A  merry,  merry  stave. 
Said  I  unto  the  wight; 
"It  is  a  mournful  sight 
To  see  you  here  alone — 
To  sing  to  wave  and  stone 
That  heedless  are  and  cold. 
And  you  so  very  old. 
And  you  so  dried  and  sere. 
That  Love  can  scarcely  hear." 
Then  turned  that  wight  to  me. 
(A  jolly  face  had  he): 
"Think  not  that  I  deplore. 
Upon  this  heedless  shore. 
My  little  music  falls 
And  not  a  mortal  calls 

59 


For  me  to  szng  again. 
If  I  sing  not  for  men. 
The  heart  of  me  I  cheer 
And  happy  am  I  here, 
Beside  this  ancient  wave 
And  sing  a  merry  stave." 


60 


Here  ends  the  little  book  of  verses  entitled 
J*  "A  Drift  of  Song"  J*  written  by  J* 
Charles  G.  Blanden  J*   and   pub 
lished  by   J*  William  S.  Lord 
at    Evanston     J*     in   the 
State  of  Illinois  •£  in 
the  month  of  June 
MCMII 
J* 


A     000  671  701     1 


